


My circus; my monkeys

by Graylines



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Adhd people relate, Pepper Potts is a badass, Pepper is done with everyone's shit, Science Bros, Science binge gone on long enough, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, hyperfixation mention, self neglect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:29:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21996784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Graylines/pseuds/Graylines
Summary: Take that position, they said.It’ll look good on your resume, they said.Be Tony Stark’s assistant, they said.Or pepper dealing with a three-way science binge.
Relationships: Bruce Banner & Tony Stark, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 3
Kudos: 104





	My circus; my monkeys

The thing about higher brain function is that it often negates lower brain function.

Should any human being be able to ignore their own growling stomach for days on end? No. it’s in our very nature to nurture ourselves. It’s one of the first things they code into us. Eat/ sleep/ reproduce. That is the fundamentals of human process.

But supposed “geniuses” have this inhumane way of completely negating all other human needs in the pursuit of a fixation. The pursuit predator’s short cut to higher brain function.

Some have deemed it a fascination. To watch someone in their fixation build, create, discover. To watch the most intelligent of us achieve.

That’s what they say at least. Mark Virginia Potts down as unimpressed. In fact, watching the love of her life spill coffee down the side of his face because he forgot to turn away from the screen before sipping, makes her call total bullshit on that one. The fact that the coffee is also burnt and cold as ice, makes her roll her eyes.

Tony continues to type away at his holo-keyboard like he isn’t tapping and sliding his fingers through a puddle of coffee. His bulging bruised eyes not taking even a moment to blink as they are locked to the screen.

It was bad when it was just Tony. When he was her boss and she wasn’t morally obligated to make sure he didn’t short his heart out on the saddest coffee she’d ever laid eyes on. It was bad when it was just him and his suites and a busted old coffee pot for days on end.

But now, now that Bruce and Peter have joined the shit show, it’s so much worse. Those three might have papers and degrees and aptitude tests and shit to designate them geniuses, “the most intelligent men earth has to offer” but Peter has webbed his feet to a wall head dangling just high enough above the floor to shove a pillow under in order to, and she quotes, “let gravity hold his eyelids up”. And Bruce has stripped down to his socks, undershirt, and lab coat sometime since last night. Though he’s still sitting crossed legged in the exact same spot holo-screens encasing him in a done of pallid blue light.

They started out collaborating, she’s sure if it. They’d been gathered around a table throwing ideas back and forth. Now however they all sat spaced apart. Only screens flicking from one person to another indicated any sort of interaction. They were all facing a different wall for God sakes!

The mini-fridge had run dry at lunch yesterday and from the looks of it, no one had attempted to find food elsewhere.

Intern at Stark industries, they said.

Take that position, they said.

It’ll look good on your resume, they said.

Be Tony Stark’s assistant, they said.

It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity, they said.

They didn’t say she’d be left in charge of an entire fortune 500 company and a hyperfixating man child with zero self-preservation skills and his enabling partners in crime.

But her time as personal assistant did equip her with an array of weaknesses to be exploited in the pursuit of finagling her husband.

The entire spread of burgers, pizza, Thai food, swarm, and eggplant parmigiana in the dining room was level one. Level two was Steve waiting in the elevator as back up if necessary. Level three was an auto generated text from aunt may to Peter’s phone. And finally if all else fails, level four was to just grab the coffee maker and run.

She took a deep steadying breath trying not to focus on Peter struggling to unstick his eyelids from where they dried open. None of them had noticed her standing in the doorway for going on three minutes despite the elevator pinning doing her arrival. Just enough time to come to terms with the fact that this was her circus and those, those her monkeys.


End file.
